


Rue St.Augustin

by zorrorosso



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29633118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zorrorosso/pseuds/zorrorosso
Summary: After the death of Cardinal Richelieu, someone is back in Paris.(Fic I wrote in 2015, inspired from the episodes of S1 and the first episodes of S2, it doesn't follow the main story after that)
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The jurist

It was a fairly quiet early afternoon, the sun couldn't break through the walls of the tallest buildings. The air wasn't too hot either.

Another day of business and work was preparing to end, even though someone had already finished their duties and someone else was preparing to begin them.

There was an air of expectation in the streets of a Paris that was ready for the changes due to the position taken by the new commander of the cardinalate guards, Count Rochefort, and the speculations that there would be, from then on, on the arrival or less than a new Cardinal who should have taken Richelieu's place.

The people who lived in the Madame Sainctot hamlet, as that street corner crossing Rue de Victoire and Rue St. Augustin was often called, were strangely very interested in that kind of information, not least because their fate depended on it.

Most of the residents, most of them rented or in other temporary residences, were in fact returning from all over France, where Richelieu had forced them to go when he was still alive.

The irony of fate wanted those buildings and their inhabitants only a few steps from the street dedicated to the late Cardinal, the man who in his life had done so much to remove them from the center of Paris.

Noises of hasty footsteps traveling the deserted street came closer and closer.

“Blaise! You open! It's us! ”- said a man, turning to a dark boy, whose head could hardly be seen from the wide open window on the street. The man was holding a girl of perhaps four or five by the hand.

A housekeeper pushed aside the heavy red curtains of a bedroom on the first floor of the building facing them. Behind the glass you could see a large room with several alcoves, all embellished with embroidered blankets and precious silks. Even the room seemed to be part of a house that was too large for the Parisian villages.

The hostess looked out the window curiously, lit a pipe and quickly crossed the child's eyes to focus more on the tall figure of the father who was holding her hand. He was a tall man with a thin, pale build. Her hair, the same color as the girl's, neatly trimmed and cut just below the ears, was auburn brown, streaked with the first white hair. The jurist's collar stood out white from his long dark toga.

The woman immediately noticed how he used to completely shave his face, turning out younger than he really was.

On his small and slightly pointed nose, they still rested a pair of large round glasses, they hid their light eyes, perhaps green, and with one arm he held two thick tomes from which sheets and notes stood out, used as bookmarks. He placed the books on the edge of the door, took off his collar for fear of dirtying it and put it, together with the glasses, under his toga.

The lady was still staring at them with keen interest: she wore a corset embroidered with fine pearls and both the jewels that embellished her, and those that could be seen leaning against the dressing table, made one think of how rich she could be.

Yet no emblem of a noble family decorated the jambs of the windows or that of the door. It did not go unnoticed by the small family that the woman's hair was dyed a bright red and a man with a hat pulled down on his face almost sneaked out: he was carrying a heavy cloak with the edge dirty with mud and large bags of wayfarer, now empty.

“Jacqueline! You don't stare at strangers, it's rude! ”- the man said to the little girl, who turned away from that particular woman, wrapped in a cloud of smoke and her sumptuous home.

***

He looked one last time from the dark window, as if on the other side there was no street full of passers-by who came home from the long day of work and the clear reflection of the lights of the warm tavern, full of tired people, workers, warriors. and merchants who had concluded their business for that day and were preparing for the evening, for dinner, for tired husbands, angry wives and the screams of children in the middle of the night.

He had always hated those crying, those loud moans that came from beings so small. They often woke him up earlier, but all he used to do was simply get dressed and leave yet another bed. They weren't his responsibilities: they were someone else's mistakes, which he certainly didn't want to have anything to do with.

However, the cries of Luis, the little Dauphin of France, were different. They were cries she always wanted and could comfort, tears she managed to wipe away by taking her small cheek in the palm of her hand and running her thumb gently over her long lashes.

Soft hair that caressed his chin when he took it on his lap, those hands so small that they clung with determination to his shoulders, never to let go. Unlike everyone else, he felt like Luis was his and he would do anything to be by his side, he would give his life to watch over him and protect him from all the dangers of the world.

Aramis had looked for Luis that afternoon too, as always, but Marguerite was alone. He hadn't come near to ask her for information, he didn't want to woo her again or be forgiven, only in order to obtain a few ephemeral information: the care of the Dauphin was entrusted in part to Constance, she would no longer need that kind of deception. 

The musketeer could not remember ever having found the nurse without him for so long before, not even when the prince was sick and it began to appear unnatural to him. By now the cries of the first months had been replaced with some words and the first steps, Marguerite and the Queen should have waited even longer for the prince, not absent themselves from him.

He turned his gaze back to Athos, intent on pouring more wine for both of them. When left alone to his thoughts, his companion used to pinch his eyebrows and remember something that marked a mixed expression of resentment and melancholy on his face.

Aramis tried to open his mouth, intending to say something, but Athos interrupted him before he could:

"He is not your son, we have already talked about it ..." - he said without even looking at him or without asking what was the problem that afflicted his longtime friend, drinking a first glass and immediately filling another.

The musketeer stared at his chalice, full of dark wine, tried to gobble it as he saw Athos do, in the hope of obtaining the same result, but a lump in his throat, a sense of lack and sadness prevented him; he barely managed to wet his lips to put it back and look for D'Artagnan and Porthos who, for that evening, were late in arriving.

***

The door knocker rang for a long time before someone opened it.

Even when it was open, however, it left no idea who might be on the other side.

"Sir, excuse my intrusion, but this afternoon you forgot your books by the side of the door ..." - the lady owner of the house next door peered inside, now dark, where the candlelight showed the stairs leading to the upstairs and the doubtful face of the jurist with round glasses again on his nose.

"I asked my housekeeper to withdraw them, so that they do not take humidity, they seem tomes of a certain value ..." - the woman continued, not intimidated by that shy behavior.

The man took the books without thanks, gave a quick check of the pages to see that none of his precious notes had been lost or tampered with.

"Not ... They are not the books that a normal jurist usually consults" - commented the woman, hoping to find out a little more.

The man blushed and stared at her with embarrassment.

“What does a lonely, rich woman with red-dyed hair like you know about books, Madame?” - the candle she was holding almost seemed to tremble as she said those words.

The woman shrugged as if that kind of rude behavior towards her was common enough.

"I know that you are new to here and do not belong to this kind of environment, that during the day you take your children to school before sitting in the chair yourself and no wife or housekeeper awaits you when you come back, that you can only, but you don't know how to iron it and that's why you always fold it with extreme care.

I know that the light of your lantern, in the evening, stays on almost as much as mine and I know what people think when they see the light on in my home ”- she replied with a hint of severity in her voice.

"For sure, I know that books cannot be judged only by the lining, Monsieur ...?" - he continued, changing his tone and holding out his hand.

"Etienne" - the man replied with a little reverence, as detached as possible.

“Don't worry! I'm not sick! ”- the woman exclaimed, noticing that shy behavior even just taking his hand.

"You could be ..." - he said looking away - "My children have already lost a mother, they don't need to suffer for me too" - he continued between his teeth. The man's embarrassment was tainted with a kind of disgust and resentment towards her, a prejudice.

The woman sighed in resignation.

“You have my word: I am not sick. I don't hang out with that kind of people. So, Etienne, what prompted you to move to Paris? ”- asked the woman, bringing her hands to her hips and nodding her head.

The man looked towards the staircase, turning the candle in the same direction, where the silhouettes of the two children hid behind the wooden railing.

"I see. You are looking for a good tutor, then. You could bring them to me, I already assist several students at my Salon, also with the help of a very good tutor ... ”- the woman said, hinting at the two children.

"I really don't think that your ... Salon, or whatever you want to call it, is a suitable place for my children ..." - Etienne commented more confidently, but also irritated towards the affable behavior of a woman with a dubious reputation.

"He too returned to Paris after Richelieu's death, just like you ..." - she commented in a low voice, noting that the man did not seem to give her the slightest confidence, he pulled back.

"Forgive my behavior, if it seemed rude to you" - she said, closing the door herself and hurrying away.

That last sentence, however, had not been uttered in vain: Etienne had listened to it very carefully.


	2. the procuress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madame takes interest in her new neighbours.

Chapter 2

The procuress

Constance smiled and looked down.

The makeup made her skin even more white, now that she could afford to wear it every day, without receiving irritating feedback.

"I don't know ..." - he said taking a big sigh and slightly swaying his back, deliberately avoiding Aramis's worried gaze.

At these words the musketeer narrowed his eyes and took her shoulders, almost alarmed, saying:

“How can you not know? You are a lady of the court! You are in contact with the Queen and the Dolphin day and night ... ”-.

"I tell you I don't know ... " - the lady retorted - "But if you really need to know, you should ask the Queen herself, or the dry nurse ... Or that gentleman you see over there ..." - Constance said, pointing to a stiff man, not too tall, fully dressed, his black boots polished as if they had never seen the dust, a long blue jacket on which the tall hat with the cuffless brim, in English fashion, it almost hid face and hair.

A little further away, the Queen held little Luis's hands, helping him to take his first steps. Aramis smiled a little at how much the prince had grown and how beautiful his Queen remained. However, his face immediately became serious when he noticed Anna raise her head towards the man and smile confidently, while he nodded satisfied, with his fist behind his back, pointed towards something towards the prince's feet, as a trainer could have done. of horses.

He was horrified to think that this man should have given orders to the Prince or worse yet, show up with a riding crop from his next visit.

"Constance, who is that man?" - Aramis asked almost frightened by that sight.

"I can not tell you who it is, however it is the new tutor of little Luis" - she replied serenely.

“Seems like a very experienced instructor. Are you sure I've ever had anything to do with ... Humans? ”- asked the suspicious musketeer.

Constance laughed - “Don't worry! The Dauphin is in safe hands and, if I had the opportunity to tell you more, I'm sure you would think the same too ... Now, however, tell me all about D'Artagnan! "- she continued, finally with a bright tone of voice and eyes on him.

***

The housekeeper opened the front door with a deep bow.

“Who should I announce, monsieur?” - he asked in the monotonous voice of someone who often uses that phrase.

“Etienne. I live right across the street. Your mistress and I talked just the other night ... ”- the jurist tried to explain, pointing behind him to the door of the building opposite.

“I don't know if you already know the rules of the Salon, monsieur, but Madame doesn't… Here, she doesn't receive” - the woman hesitated, keeping her gaze fixed down.

The man's eyes widened and blushed without saying a word. He immediately took off the collar of his toga and undid the first two buttons. The neck slowly throbbed down all the blood that had just flowed to his cheeks, while the Adam's apple contracted upward and swallowed heavily.

"If you want to talk to some other lady ..." - suggested the housekeeper, while with her hand she marked the way towards a corridor from which you could see several rooms with open doors.

"That's enough, Michelle" - said a female voice behind him.

Behind him he could smell the smell of pipe smoke, puffed from the corner of his mouth with lips as red as his hair and his big, brown eyes, staring at him as he slowly turned.

“Why are you here, Monsieur?” - he said, brushing his hair off his shoulders, confidently.

“You said that tutor was staying at the Salon. It was my intention to speak with him and discuss the possibility of an education for Blaise and Jacqueline. I notice that instead my suspicions were completely founded ”- said the jurist looking around, with the same irritated tone of a few previous nights.

“The Salon is a place where Richelieu and, rarely, his affiliates have ever entered in person. There must also have been a reason. If you have the patience to wait a few moments, I believe that whoever you are looking for will soon be back ”- he continued inhaling from the pipe. The tobacco caught fire at its breath.

“I had the pleasure of noticing, from your writings, a certain passion for accounts, Monsieur. Your research on the mathematical sciences would be very welcome to the other members of the Salon. The tutor who resides here, François, is more interested in medical sciences and astronomy, but he also knows ancient languages well. If you teach your children and our other students the mathematics that I had the opportunity to read in those notes and if you leave François to his subjects, I am sure that both they and the others will have an enviable education "- saying so, she squeezed shoulders and frowned, exhaling more smoke - "you won't even need to pay a private tutor." - he continued, lying down and looking down.

Etienne nodded without speaking. A lock of hair fell over her eyes and she moved it nervously.

"And you?" - he asked back.

"I must admit that the sciences fascinate me, but I am more interested in the arts, music and metrics in particular" - he said, showing in the large internal room some manuscripts scattered on an open desk.

"Jacqueline seems to have a talent for metrics, while Blaise has always shown a particular intelligence ..." - confessed the man, ignoring his prejudices for a moment.

“Don't worry, Monsieur Etienne, this part of the Salon will be for them the best education they can get. Equally, if not higher than that of a prince at Court! ”- she reassured him noticing the housekeeper getting ready again for the door.

A short man, with a strange walk and dressed in light colored, appeared at the entrance almost running, nodded to the housekeeper, but did not take off the dark headdress that also covered his face.

He immediately turned to the landlady, without introducing himself to Etienne, whispered a few words so that only she could hear them, and turned back only once, before leaving the entrance and proceeding to a wing of the apartment that the housekeeper did not. had shown earlier.

At the words of the mysterious man, the mistress lowered her pipe and inhaled deeply: she arched her back and assumed a more proud and upright posture.

"You! Soon! Take off your toga! ”- she quickly exclaimed to the jurist, while the housekeeper closed the door that led to the corridor, and then adjusted her hair and took off her linen apron, so as to show some velvet dresses underneath.

Etienne immediately did as ordered and approached the hostess.

"He has a blue cape ..." - said the housekeeper, seeing the figure of another man approaching.

The hostess craned her neck in a pose that made her appear taller and took a step back towards Etienne - "Behave anyway as you would in front of the Cardinal's soldiers, Michelle" - she ordered the housekeeper resolutely.

The man in the blue cape knocked on the door and humbly took off his hat, trying to peek inside the house, the housekeeper opened the door, turning her gaze to her mistress.

“Good evening, Monsieur! May I know the reason for your visit? ”- asked the mistress closing her eyes.

“I'm a Royal Guards musketeer. I saw a rather short man come in here, in a light blue jacket and a black hat ... He is serving at Court. Do you live here? ”- he asked looking around.

“Ah! You are referring to the dear Marquis François de Monsorot ... Of course! Who should I announce? ”- said the woman raising her voice, with a broad smile, but narrowing her eyes.

At those words the musketeer hesitated. He squeezed his hat even more in his hands and lowered his head, to immediately raise it, but waited a few more moments before answering.

"In the meantime, let me introduce myself, I am the owner of the house, the Countess Marie of St. Augustine and this is my dear friend Etienne, Duke of Rouen" - he said holding out his hand with the most haughty attitude he could invent.

The musketeer took her politely and bowed to her saying:

“Forgive my rudeness, but your house has no noble house emblems and I have never seen you at Court, Contessa. Forgive my ignorance, Duke, I thought that Rouen was a Shire ”- he commented almost apologizing for that raid without warning.

The man looked no more than thirty years old and wore a beard and mustache in the fashion of those times, a well-kept uniform, albeit humble and damaged in some places by wear, his brown hair pulled back. At other times it might have conveyed a reassuring air; however his eyes, also brown and slightly elongated, appeared tired and his soul as enraptured by too many worries.

Etienne inhaled nervously, hated lying, but he knew how to do it: sometimes his profession left him no choice.

“You are forgiven. I will not mention your name to the King on my visit in the morning. However, you will at least have the foresight to introduce yourselves to my dear friend, eh, Contessa? ”- he said hesitantly in pronouncing that noble title and glancing at her, for the first time benevolent, through round glasses.

"Aramis, Madame" - he said softly.

The woman laughed and put a hand to her mouth.

"The ... Duke asked for your name and your house, not your barracks nickname!" - he retorted sarcastically.

"That's enough, Madame!" - Etienne immediately took back the woman who seemed to feel too much pleasure in that laugh.

"Baron D'Herblay ..." - Aramis answered intrigued by the behavior of the two.

“As much as your education and rank should teach you better, you men of arms always behave like wild animals: a simple musketeer should not arrive without being announced in the house of others without a legal warrant. Furthermore, a Baron could not ask a Marquis for an interview without prior communication. As much as we are trying to be tolerant with your behavior, now you have to leave and return with a warrant issued by your Captain or first send a footman with a written note for the Marquis ”- Etienne explained, showing the door to Aramis.

The musketeer was unable to explain to them the real reason for his visit. He nodded and walked away resigned, but with the distinct feeling of having been deceived.

The jurist picked up his toga and collar, turned a last glance to Madame Sainctot who was following the movements of the guard from the window.

"I hope for you that this François is not only a frondeur , but also a tutor as valid as you say, Madame!" - sighed the jurist approaching the door to go out.

"I am not a frondeur" - exclaimed a voice behind them and the short figure of the tutor in the blue jacket, took off his hat and finally introduced himself to Etienne.


	3. the tutor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis is jealous.

Chapter 3

The tutor

Athos looked at his companion with disdain before lowering the hat over his eyes, but D'Artagnan clapped a hand on the table of the shady inn, in order to get his attention again.

“I tell you, this has been going on for too long already! I don't want to know anything about it! And I certainly don't want to be the reason for his ruin! ”- the man exclaimed in response to that gesture.

"But Aramis is right: you are the only one among us with a high enough title to be able to compare this Marquis without first asking for a formal appointment ..." - Porthos replied, noting the increasingly worried attitude of Aramis at those words.

“Then you go, D'Artagnan! You have the same title as me! ”- Athos replied, realizing how much that was not a business that Aramis had taken so lightly.

The boy narrowed his eyes - "You know how I don't have the same power as you ..." - he smiled, pulling his back away from the bench and raising his legs to the edge of the table.

Athos looked at the other three staring intently and snorted reluctantly, asking:

"So, where did you say this ... Countess lives ?!".

***

Arriving in Rue St. Augustin, Athos got off his horse and immediately began to suspect something: many houses in that area were poor, many more were actually brothels, although towards the end of the street more sumptuous houses could be seen, none seemed, however, the proper residence of a noble, especially someone who spent much of his time at court.

Two wayfarers entered laughing into the last building that made the corner with another street and he followed them on foot.

He knocked on the door without receiving an initial response and only afterwards did the housekeeper open with a short bow, but said nothing more than waiting for her mistress to arrive.

Athos paused on the two cheerful travelers: their bags were full of books of all kinds and of little value prints. They began to quickly remove them from their leather pouches right in front of his attentive eyes and, speaking in narrow Provençal, they pointed to a door from which a corridor with many rooms and some open doors could be seen.

The musketeer no longer needed to see anything else: that too was yet another of the many brothels on a suburban street.

Aramis, perhaps worried about the fate of the prince, had certainly been sidetracked by the procuress and who knows who else.

***

"If you wanted to play a bad joke on me, my friends, you did it very well!" - Athos burst from the top of his horse, galloping back under the wide passage of the barracks.

"What joke are you talking about?" - Porthos asked, while D'Artagnan and Aramis also approached intrigued by the angry expression on his face.

Athos said no more, took out one of the prints taken away from the travelers and showed it to his companions.

"It's not possible!" - Aramis exclaimed - "Did you go to the house I described to you?" - he asked even more troubled, not so much by the images of that print, but by the idea that the tutor of the little Dolphin was assiduously similar place, much to live there.

“Have you spoken to the Countess or to the Duke?” - asked Aramis insistently.

“Which Countess? You also know what kind of men and women there were in there! And I guarantee you that talking to me was the least of their thoughts! I don't know who you met in that house! I only saw a simple housekeeper, in linen clothes! ”- Athos retorted, quite offended.

“I'm sorry Aramis, but even if that's the case, we certainly can't prove that this tutor is committing something wrong. We need a warrant and, in court, his behavior is spotless ”- said D'Artagnan, giving him a light pat on the back in the hope of comforting him.

“Besides, he is practically unapproachable: he frequents the Queen and the Prince in such private sessions that even Her Majesty's visits are forbidden!

Aramis met his gaze with a glimmer of hope: “Porthos! You grew up in a village not far from St. Augustin, you are certainly not new to those environments! "

Porthos's eyes widened, bending down a corner of his mouth and immediately said:

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but luckily for me I don't have the need to go to those places yet!"

"Surely you will know a pimp, maybe only by sight!" - Aramis urged him.

“If you push this hard, a friend of Flea's I think was a pimp. I could try to ask someone ... ”- Porthos said with a shrug.

"I would be grateful!" - exclaimed the musketeer finally finding his smile.

***

Prince Luis let out a small cry, fell to his knees and continued on all fours those few steps that separated the mysterious tutor from the Queen.

Anna laughed and took him in her arms, giving him a brief turn, handed him back into the arms of the tutor with the black hat.

Despite the distance, Aramis did not let the smile of Luis towards that person escape and he felt a sense of pain thinking about the possibility that this mysterious Marquis could be an evil person and be plotting something unthinkable.

"Couldn't I have been the tutor of little Luis?" - Aramis thought as he witnessed that scene from afar, hidden by the vegetation - "I have traveled a lot, I know the arts, languages and I know how to fight better than this homunculus who he even manages to have a word on the King's decisions. It would have been an opportunity for me to be close to my son, to Anna, to spend more time with them, to have the opportunity to personally provide for his education. But instead ... It is an injustice that a humble Baron cannot have the same word as a sumptuous Marquis with too small feet and too wide a mouth! ”- his eyes conveyed a silent regret.

Wounded by their joy and the extreme jealousy he felt towards that tutor, he left the gardens trying not to be noticed. However, only a few paces later, the elegant, erect figure of a man almost as tall as himself blocked his way.

"What are you doing here? The Queen has ordered not to receive visitors when she is in the company of the Dauphin and his tutor ”- said Rochefort between his teeth.

"I can ask you the same, Count ..." - roared the musketeer, trying to continue on his way.

Rochefort stared intently at the tutor in the distance: he seemed too confident near the sovereign. His delicate steps and elegant clothes seemed to bewitch the looks of the Queen, but not even blackmailing Marguerite was enough to have any information about him in order to proceed in person to his immediate cancellation of the role. A nun would certainly have been a better teacher for the Dauphin, especially a less ambitious contender.

“Do you have any idea who that man is?” - he asked Aramis.

“So you haven't had a chance to blackmail him yet under your power or make him your friend? It's not like you, Count! ”- Aramis burst out, ignoring Rochefort's worries.

“As you can see, his ways don't appeal to me, Aramis. And I know keenly that you don't like it either. If you know his name and where he lives, it will be a great pleasure for me to help you get rid of him ... ”- Rochefort said in more inviting tones.

"You will surely want something in return ..." - muttered the musketeer crossing his arms.

“It won't be a problem for you to give me what I want! It is a discourse that we can resume later, if now you just tell me his name ... ”- the Count gave a half smile.

"Marquis de Monsorot ... Have the foresight to warn me when you too will find something against him" - Aramis lowered the brim of his hat over his eyes: " common pain, half joy! ”- he thought continuing his walk.

“Marquis François de Monsorot? The Protestant? Oh Aramis! Whoever gave you that information certainly wanted to make fun of you! ”- Rochefort burst out in a half laugh.

The musketeer's step stopped abruptly, he quickly turned his head and their eyes met a second time. The Count gritted his teeth in a mocking smile.

"Eh?" - the musketeer was surprised.

"François de Monsorot has been dead for at least ten years ... I can guarantee you!"

"Why? Did you kill him? ”- asked Aramis assuming the same tone.

"Now that we know that that man is an impostor, what does it matter?" - Rochefort commented satisfied, walking away and glancing at the Queen, who could not notice them in the distance.

***

“The mistress is called Madame Sainctot and Athos is absolutely right: she is anything but a Countess! I also tried to ask about that Duke, but no one seems to know a person who matches your description ”- Porthos burst towards Aramis violently banging the pitcher on the table of one of the benches in the square of the barracks.

“Another strange thing: François, the Marquis de Monsorot died years ago” - he added thoughtfully.

"How do you know?" - asked Athos.

"Rochefort knew him, but he doesn't know the Dauphin's tutor"

“Aramis! Why did it occur to you to talk to Rochefort about it? ”- Porthos asked.

“He won't give us any more respite and he'll surely fix it somehow as soon as he gets the chance!” - D'Artagnan exclaimed, narrowing his eyes.

“We will never have a chance to know who he is. Even if she had been an honest person in the wrong place, now her fate is sealed forever "- concluded Athos, apparently undisturbed by that thought.

“Don't worry! I'll do it before he can! ”- Aramis therefore decided that this would be the best solution to solve the problem.

“But we have no proof of his true crime! What happens if they discover that it was you who did justice yourself? ”- asked D'Artagnan.

"It does not matter. What matters is only the welfare of the Prince ”- Aramis answered clenching a fist. As he said this, he stood up, adjusted his rapier and shoulder strap, checked the gun with a quick glance, and adjusted the hem of his jacket with a wave of greeting to his companions.

"Wait!" - exclaimed the young musketeer without thinking too much - "If you really have to challenge someone to a duel, I'll be second!" - he said following him.


	4. the duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rochefort is at the doors of the Salon.

Chapter 4

The duel

When dusk fell, Aramis and D'Artagnan went to the gates of the Louvre waiting for the mysterious tutor with the black hat, to leave the palace that evening too.

A brilliant light shone from the windows of Rue St. Augustin, the diminutive figure of the tutor dismounted and without a doubt approached Madame Sainctot's apartments.

The two had not noticed him turning back, a sign that they had not been noticed, however he hesitated to enter, remaining speechless and covered by the shadow of the closed door, which in the darkness did not allow to see even the clear features of his long jacket.

The two musketeers advanced doing the same, they approached the shadow of another closed door, from where the light of the windows could not filter.

The shadow of a tall man, probably dressed in dark clothes, reached the short figure of the tutor after a few moments.

“Marquis François de Monsorot!” - Aramis shouted.

“You are a criminal and an impostor! If you have courage, come forward and fight with me! ”- he said advancing towards a more enlightened area.

“Both the Marquis and I are unarmed, Monsieur. We don't have weapons and we don't know how to use them. No duel carried out in this manner would be on equal terms, nor would it do you honor. Ah! You Musketeers, again! ”- exclaimed a familiar male voice from the darkness.

“The imaginative Duke of Rouen! The toga does not suit you. What is your real name? ”- Aramis asked the two shadows, one lower than the other, otherwise indistinguishable.

“Etienne. If letting me pass by Duke is the way to keep you, your rapiers and your muskets away... It's the most welcome! ”.

“Come in, quickly, I'll take care of them!” - the jurist then murmured to the tutor, who behind him infiltrated the house by slightly pushing the door aside.

Only moments later, the barrel of Rochefort's gun was pointed at Etienne's forehead.

"From a distance I made you shorter, Monsieur" - said the Count, ready to shoot.

“Wait! He is not armed! He's just a notary!”- shouted D'Artagnan, approaching the two.

Rochefort, illuminated by the light from the window, peered into the sure face of the jurist. He let go of the manuscript he held in his hands and clenched his fists under the watchful gaze of Madame, whose shape shadowed some of the light from the window.

The Count dropped the pistol and rushed at the man with his bare hands, but when he struck the first punch, the door suddenly opened with a kick and Madame Sainctot herself aimed a large order musket at the back of the Count's neck. , fumbling to get it started.

The weapon, not the most recent, was too heavy for his arms, so much so that he had to drag it on his stomach, without holding it like a soldier would. However, the lock was turned so that it clicked with a brief wave of the left hand and the fingers of the other were on the trigger, ready to fire anyway.

“He won't be armed, but I am! I advise you to leave with your own legs!”- he shouted, his eyes burning with anger.

“Do you remember a guard without a musket in the barracks?” - asked D'Artagnan.

"There is a rumor of a red guard so distracted that he has lost it somewhere..." - Aramis said with a short movement of the shoulder.

"Now we can tell him we have found it!" - he concluded, returning his gaze to the woman.

The two musketeers tried to walk slowly towards her, while the Count got up, reaching for the loaded pistol, still on the ground. The woman followed him with the barrel of the musket now pointed towards the abdomen.

Only the woman's brown eyes turned to them briefly, in a sense of alert.

“Madame Sainctot?” - asked Aramis holding his hands up.

"If it's one of yours, take it away and leave us alone!" - said the woman throwing a missed kick towards the Count, who backed away avoiding him with a threatening look.

"Give me the tutor and I will pretend that all this has never happened ..." - Rochefort said, lowering himself dangerously close to his gun and grinding his teeth at the woman.

With a sharp blow, Madame swung the lock and pulled the trigger. The shot could be heard clearly all along the way and many other people came out curious about that bang in the middle of the night. The backlash caused her to fall back, not too far from Etienne's body, still lying on the ground.

The Count got up unscathed. Still covered in dust, he took his pistol, but at that moment Aramis and D'Artagnan's rapiers were pointing straight at his throat.

"Do as he told you, go away!" - said the boy facing the Rochefort with a nod of his chin.

***

His eyes slowly opened.

Her cheek, especially her jaw, felt swollen and aching.

First he saw Blaise's face, his round, curious eyes staring at him in wonder. He was not a man who used to fight with his fists, Etienne used to destroy his opponents with words. The pain he was feeling right now was ready to remind him why.

He reached for his glasses with his hand. Fortunately these had not broken during the fight. Only in this way did he have the opportunity to distinguish the most distant people around him.

He noticed one of the two musketeers scrutinizing him carefully, perhaps too close for his liking, intent on observing the wound on the side of his mouth, dabbing the blood that came out of it with a rag soaked in water and salt. It burned, but it was a necessary evil to avoid infection. Madame gave a half smile, part of her face was still dirty with the gray of gunpowder.

"You have made yourself settle down really well, especially for someone who does not like to be touched!" - said the woman, pointing her big brown eyes on him.

Jacqueline, at the foot of the bed, was playing peacefully with a doll.

"It doesn't look like a serious injury, he'll get away with it." - Aramis commented to D'Artagnan.

"Blaise, let's go home now ..." - Etienne managed to say with difficulty, trying to get up.

"Not before telling us where the man we are looking for is!" - one of the two musketeers corrected him.

“Etienne has nothing to do with it, he was just trying to help me. It is I who host the Marquis under my roof. If you want to know about that man, ask me, not him ”- Madame said approaching the bed.

"He is not the Marquis of Monsorot, he is an impostor who infiltrated the Court under a false name" - explained D'Artagnan.

“Actually it was Her Majesty the Queen who specifically asked for him and addressed him to Paris. Don't you think a mother knows for herself what is best for her child? I advise you to leave this matter alone! I am a woman who has seen many people and the Marquis is not someone evil. If the Queen wants him at Court, who are you to go against her wishes? "- snapped the hostess to the two musketeers.

“You are not obliged to answer these gentlemen, Madame. As you can see, they came back with their weapons in full view, loaded, shiny but without a warrant! ”- Etienne added.

"Who was that man with you?" - Madame asked putting her hands on her hips, tightening her eyes with a defiant way.

“He wasn't with us. He's the Count Rochefort ”- D'Artagnan corrected her with rancor.

"I understand. Let me attend to the care of my jurist then: I will need him soon" - the woman commented in a resigned voice. He had done so much to counter Richelieu in the past and now he had Rochefort against him too.

"Madame, your was legitimate defense ... Give us the musket and the Red Guards will have no evidence against you" - said Aramis with a more uncertain expression: he had perhaps condemned an innocent person to serve Rochefort's wrath.

"Take it, it's yours. Someone forgot it here many years ago" - she replied without looking at him.

"If you will give us the opportunity to know that tutor and guarantee his honesty in person, we could intercede with the King for ..." - the musketeer tried to explain to the woman, in an attempt to save his hard-earned political calm.

“Etienne is right. I don't have to do this and you can't search my home. If you don't have a warrant, keep your suspicions to yourself. I'm not afraid of rapiers or guns: do you think that breaking into a house with guns is your right? Well it isn't! Thank you for making sure of our health ... After attacking us in front of the door. Now follow the example of that Count: go away and never let us see you again!”- she exclaimed calling the housekeeper with a clap of her hands to remove them from her home.


	5. the Salon

Chapter 5

The Salon

Porthos's eyes widened, incredulous at his companions' words.

"So now you want to send me to this ... Brothel to talk to this woman because ... Why did she throw you out of the house for the second time in a row and you are afraid of coming back a third?!" - he asked puzzled.

"And she doesn't want to see us, but they are in danger: the Red Guards could arrest her or attack her at any time: they must teach her a lesson so that such things don't happen again" - added D'Artagnan.

"It would almost be easier to get a warrant and pretend to proceed with the arrest ourselves ..." - Athos commented, placing his hands painfully on the shoulder strap.

“Think of it like this: she is a woman of the world, a woman you can read like the back of your hand. That he is guilty in God's eyes, but perhaps not in the King's. We cannot risk the life of an innocent person ... ”- said Aramis in the hope of being as convincing as possible.

"If business is like this, this woman has seen you and D'Artagnan, but she has never met Athos in person ..." - said Porthos, taking off his cape and part of his beautiful uniform stuffed to stay in his shirt sleeves.

"Let me talk: you will keep your weapons" - he continued, handing his loaded guns to his companion.

***

"I'm looking for... A woman for my friend" - Porthos burst into the home of Madame Sainctot and proudly bringing his hands to his waist.

“How tall?” - he asked, turning to Athos, who did not answer - “As tall as me, if not more! Blonde?! Blonde as the wheat...”- smiled the musketeer towards his silent companion, far from cheered by those words.

The housekeeper nodded silently and walked slowly down the corridor, taking her time and carefully entering one of the open rooms.

"You have to admit that it's still a luxury place, nice big..." - he commented observing the decorated ceiling, while Athos did everything to cover his face, keeping his hat firmly on his head.

"What do you have under the button of your pants, Monsieur?"- asked a woman dressed with care and appeared from another wing of the house. Porthos smiled at that strange question.

"I do not think you are new to this kind of thing, Madame!" - he laughed, approaching calmly towards the woman.

She had an acrid smell of tobacco and dyed hair. Noting the various shirts laced over the shoulders and the neatly buttoned corset, she thought she was either off duty, or was the procuress Aramis had spoken of.

"Anyway I'm not here for me, but for my friend!" - he continued pointing to Athos leaning against the wall, with his face covered.

Quickly, the woman pounced on the hem of her trousers and stole the little book of poetry, a gift from Samara, which she often kept with her.

"Are you a Moor?" - he asked, leafing through it quickly. The lining bore Arabic script, but the poems inside had been translated into French.

"No, it's a gift" - he replied becoming more serious and tearing the book from her hands.

“Are you sure you don't want anything at all? I would have a certain room to show you ... "- she said, uncovering a shoulder and showing his neck with a sensual way.

“I'm sorry to disappoint you, Madame. Also for today you will have to settle for what you have”- he replied, lowering his gaze and putting the book back under the lacing of his trousers.

"I insist!" - he said, taking his arm and looking for his eyes, thus covering most of the view with his hair.

Embarrassed by that behavior, Porthos turned back, trying to draw the attention of Athos, who slowly decided to look up at him noting behind the woman, not too far away, the figure of a person with a blue jacket and the black hat, try to escape without being noticed.

"To the window!" - he shouted running towards him, who managed to jump with relative agility and run away.

"You just wanted to distract me!" - Porthos exclaimed, withdrawing offended.

"Come on, even if you don't meet my tastes, you are still an attractive man, Monsieur ..." - he said shrugging his shoulders and puffing a few puffs of smoke from his almost extinguished pipe, taken carelessly from a nearby piece of furniture.

Athos tried to jump out of the window as the mysterious tutor had done. He succeeded with more agility, but weighed down by his and his friend's weapons, he had no way to run as fast and was forced to stop to catch his breath.

At that moment, something shone on the ground, clearly visible to his gaze, there was a familiar golden object.

The musketeer widened his clear eyes and took a deep breath, before turning back as quickly as possible, nervous and angry.

A few moments later he kicked the door open and fired both pistols he was holding, throwing them to take up the third, wedged in the shoulder strap. The din was immediately noticed by all the people in the corridor, who came out of their rooms. They didn't look like brothel-goers at all, but ordinary people, men and women in everyday clothes. He scanned the small group quickly, as if looking for someone in particular.

He resumed his run towards the inner rooms and rushed on the hostess, tugging at the hem of her shirt and pointing his forearm under her chin.

"Where is it! What have you done to her! ”- he cried angrily.

"I don't know what you are talking about!" - exclaimed the woman, startled by the sudden change of mood of that man with too many weapons on him.

Porthos tried to stop him, but the musketeer squirmed so that he was immediately free from the grip.

He released the woman and pulled a gold pin out of his pocket, pressing it a few inches from her cheek. It was shaped like a bird, a wren.

“That François lost it while he was running away! Who did he get it from? Who did he steal it from? Do you really know him so well that you always defend and protect him like this? ”- shouted the musketeer almost out of control.

“Athos! Let her go! So he will never be able to answer you ”- Porthos ordered, losing his patience.

"Athos? I-the Count de la Fére? ”- stammered Madame uncertainly.

“I want to see all the women who work for you! Now! ”- the musketeer screamed coldly.

“There is no need. Other than Michelle, the housekeeper, none of these women work for me. Who you are looking for is not among them ... "- Madame replied massaging her neck after that violent squeeze -" It is not here "- she explained in a serious voice.

He then calmed the guests from his home and removed the onlookers who had rushed to the sound of the shots.

***

Etienne came running as soon as he noticed people coming out of the mansion opposite his.

"What happens? Has that Rochefort already turned up again? ”- he asked breathlessly.

“Just noise, don't worry” - said the woman as she tried to help her housekeeper and the two musketeers to collect the pieces of plaster that fell from the ceiling of the entrance.

"Who shot the ceiling?" - he asked looking up, towards the still attached rubble.

"Olivier de la Fére ..." - Madame said, standing up and pointing to the brown man, light skin and eyes, with dark robes. Her tone of voice was normal, as if she were talking about a person she knew well, she didn't even seem to resent her behavior, tired only from that little job. Even his gaze remained a little disturbed.

“The Count de la Fére ?! It shouldn't be here, we agreed ... ”- Etienne said, hesitating.

“And instead I am! And I will not leave until I receive all the necessary explanations! You said he is not here, but he will come back! ”Athos straightened his back and approached the jurist with a long step.

“He found the brooch” - Madame whispered to Etienne. At those words the man adjusted his glasses, ran a hand through his hair, nodding nervously.

"At this point it is inevitable ..." - the jurist whispered to the woman.

"If then someone else finds out?" - she replied worried.

“Don't worry, we know how to keep secrets!” - Porthos exclaimed proudly.

Madame and Etienne discussed in an even lower voice a few moments when, without knocking, the small figure of the tutor slightly pushed aside the entrance door and peered inside.

The two looked at him and shook their heads, pointing to the two musketeers only a few paces away. Athos pointed the rapier in his direction:

“Where did you get that brooch?” - he asked aloud.

The rosy lips of the petite tutor showed for the first time a pretty smile from under the headdress and the mysterious person walked inside the house without fear of being attacked, taking off his black hat and releasing the short blond curls, he threw amicably into his arms.


	6. The Gardens of the Royal Palace

Chapter 6

The gardens of the Royal Palace

Her lips were still fresh from the evening air, her clear eyes had found the joy that once upon a time she could see in her innocent smiles; the same joy that had been lost with the inquisitorial process and the dispersion of the Salon that she herself had created.

“I wanted to tell Aramis immediately, I wanted to write to you, but ... The Salon ... Madame ...” - she hesitated in a few quick words.

Ninon had lost her noble title and had finally become the teacher she had always dreamed of being.

Although full of joy to be back and have had the opportunity to converse again with Athos, she felt vaguely confused feelings: they had not seen each other for a long time, but she soon remembered that woman of his acquaintance who had done so much to dismantle her Salon and destroy the works and studies of so many years.

“It all began with the birth of the Prince and the death of Richelieu. As you know, the Queen has thought of calling me back to Court, to become the prince's tutor. Since I'm no longer noble, she decided to give me a bogus title to use once I moved to Paris. However, I would have liked to teach the Prince for the woman I am. However few, at Court, would have accepted a woman teacher for such a high task. Queen Anne thought of making me wear these robes, to keep the suspicious away. I cut my hair short, but at the Salon I am always who I want to be!”- explained the woman to the two musketeers.

“You know we have always been on your side! So why didn't you immediately say who you were, passing instead as a frondeur or a criminal? Now Rochefort can't wait to accuse you of some crime and lock you up in a cell forever! You are no longer safe at Court!”- exclaimed Porthos, finding confirmation in Athos' looks.

"Although I have often mentioned you to Madame and Etienne, when I noticed Aramis on my trail I immediately decided not to reveal my identity to you either, for fear that that woman of your acquaintance was still around ... With regret, I also notice her presence at Court. The Queen hasn't kept me in the dark about what's going on. What I want from you now is a promise that she will remain oblivious to Etienne, Madame and her Salon. Richelieu got what he wanted, so did she. What happens within these walls is no business that concerns them anymore”- she explained undoing her jacket and sitting tiredly on one of the padded chairs that furnished one of the internal reception rooms.

"You have my word" - Athos nodded towards her.

“A Salon?” - Porthos asked, sitting down not far away.

“Madame Sainctot's Famous Salon! Madame herself teaches music and metrics, Etienne teaches mathematics, I anatomy and astronomy. Wayfarers who buy from the best Swiss and Dutch publishers sell many of their copies here. Prints, mostly fine or gross sometimes, arrive almost every day. We read and discuss science and culture with pupils of all ages, what we want from them is just the desire to learn. It was not only a sanctuary for us rebels of Richelieu, but it will also be for those of Rochefort!”- Ninon proudly explained to the two musketeers, Madame nodded with the same feeling.

“Metric ?! Were you really interested only in that book, Madame?"- Porthos asked, turning to the woman who, when asked, nodded and commented:

“It is a remarkable translation, that you keep under the buttons of your breeches. I've never seen one so well-finished. Take care of it and remember to compliment the author...”- she said shrugging her shoulders and stroking her neck, unconditionally she turned to the jurist sitting next to him, but with relative detachment.

Etienne didn't say a word. He took off his fogged glasses and wiped them on the hem of his shirt. The red of his cheeks blended almost with Madame's hair color.

***

A tall, black hat in the English fashion.

A blue jacket, long, so long that it looks like a woman's.

Aramis looked at those robes with indecision, then Athos with curiosity, looking for an answer.

"For now you will be the Marquis de Monsorot, while we will keep Madame and her Salon under control" - he said seriously, without commenting on how appropriate those robes were, or not.

Porthos smiled as he noticed his partner wedging his shoulders into that tight jacket.

"You are perfect!" - D'Artagnan commented clapping his hands at the sight of their partner.

Aramis greeted his companions with a stiff bow, fortunately the seams of the jacket did not open.

The ritual of those meetings was almost always the same: the Dauphin's tutor waited outside in the royal gardens. Some valets kept the prying eyes of onlookers away and made sure that the three were always alone. With a sign, one of the footmen in the distance invited the tutor to enter a private room and possibly another garden, partly covered by the glass walls of a greenhouse.

Aramis remembered all those almost daily actions well. She often watched the procedure helplessly scrutinizing the smallest details, trying to figure out who was hiding under that brim.

A sense of extreme tranquility enveloped him as the doors of the hall were closed behind him, he inhaled the fresh air of that sunny morning and smiled.

Now he knew who the little Dauphin's tutor was and he could never have wished for better!

Queen Anne walked slowly towards him, holding the baby in her arms.

The Prince stretched out his hands towards the man's neck, painfully attached himself to a lock of hair, to the beard, to the carefully arranged mustache just before. The little creature's red cheeks were wet with saliva, constantly dripping from his mouth, wetting his chest and shoulder, his long-lashed brown eyes had a deeper color than he remembered previously, now much more like the his.

She hugged him and her small arms did the same, with all possible strength, onto his shoulders.

"One of Ninon's flaws is that he doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut!" - the sovereign whispered to Aramis, with a smile. 

Before he could reply to those words, the woman kissed him quickly and took Luis back into her arms.

“Aren't you afraid that someone might notice you kissing the Marquis de Monsorot?” - the musketeer asked the sovereign.

"As long as we remain closed in these rooms, these are affairs that will remain between us ..." - she said looking around and noting both the room and the garden, deserted.

***

Ninon's room was not very large. Located on the second floor of Madame Sainctot's house, it had room for a few clothes and overcoats. It was simply decorated, in remembrance of its ancient riches, stacks of volumes and manuscripts carpeted part of the wall, but it had almost no jewelry. There were not even make-up and cosmetics abound, except for a bottle of oil, he could not notice others in the toilet.

Athos took off his hat and entered with respect. He looked for a chair, but there were none: he chose to sit on the bed. The mattress was hard, the stuffed material stung from underneath the fabric. It wasn't like the big alcoves downstairs.

He waited a few moments, hesitating and thinking he was inadequate in such a place, he glared at the screen behind which the young woman was changing.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of ..." - she said coming out almost immediately, partially dressed, her hair still damp from the tub water - "We are bodies much more similar than you might think ..." - he smiled, staring at him and running his hand over his jacket.

The young woman took the edge of the scarf that the musketeer was holding around his neck, pulled it towards him and kissed him intensely. Not surprised by her resourcefulness, Athos took her hips and returned that kiss, letting his hands completely unbutton his jacket, but stopped them when they began to descend.

"Something wrong?" - she asked, moving away.

"People think this is a brothel, Ninon" - he sighed, looking away.

“Oh… Yet it isn't. We are free to listen to our feelings ... And our bodies, as we see fit. Prejudices remain outside the doors of the Salon! ”- she declared with satisfaction.

"You always said you were attracted to me" - continued the musketeer in a more thoughtful tone.

"I've never denied it ..." - she admitted.

"You have always said that I have beautiful, pleasant features ..." - he noted again.

"Sure!" - Ninon said, without finding other faults in those words.

"I find it doubtful that an intelligent woman like you, in all this time, has never noticed anything else in me ..." - he confessed with disappointment.

Ninon realized, in that moment, how much his resourcefulness could be again misinterpreted by the surrounding people: noting how even an honest behavior could hurt someone's soul, he tried to call him back and apologize, but he lowered the brim of his hat on the eyes and stopped her with detachment.

“Go! Etienne is looking for you! ”- said the musketeer getting up and quickly fastening the buttons of his jacket.


	7. the lesson

Chapter 7

The lesson

The jurist was a peculiar man, he tolerated such an environment only because he had discovered that it was not the brothel that appeared from the outside.

Far too honorable for his profession, by its petty nature, he maintained an integrity enviable to a man of law.

His words captivated everyone around him, but he didn't let himself be captivated as easily. Often shy, skeptical, when he was out of the chair or without his toga, he rarely mentioned his work. He much preferred numbers.

He had never thought of finding another wife, someone to help him raise his children, almost as disciplined and silent as he was.

He immediately realized how, in the whole Salon, only two women received his unconditional attention: Madame and Ninon.

Madame was an expert woman, she knew how to get everything, or almost everything, without asking. He seemed to have struck a deal with her, a secret deal that he never had to mention again.

The same could not be said of Ninon.

He spoke to her in the same sweet tone he addressed to Jacqueline and Blaise. In return, she listened attentively and every word that came from her mouth was analyzed with precision and taken with extreme seriousness.

Etienne and Ninon talked of stars and numbers with a passion that he had never seen in anyone else before. The two completed each other's speeches, clapped their hands, laughed ecstatically when one result coincided with another, or when one of their theories could be proven by a series of incomprehensible equations.

At that sight, Athos snorted bored and leaned against the wall, apart from the two.

He noticed Madame, looking out of the window, reading a printed sheet and smoking her pipe.

"They speak French, but for me it is as if it were another language" - the woman commented without looking at him.

“Aren't you jealous? Wouldn't you like to understand what they are saying too?” Asked the musketeer, putting his hands on his shoulder strap.

The woman laughed at that question and shrugged.

"I would like to tell you a story"- she said to Athos.

“A long time ago, a girl who loved to play the lute fell madly in love with another player.

They spent their time together playing and composing wonderful harmonies and were delighted with that. However, the girl was not yet of marriageable age and, once the lute was placed on the table, the player was no longer the delicate creature, nor the poet angel that sprang from her notes: he was a man, as you could be, perhaps worse than you, because he hid his dark side behind the beauty and of his own music.

Eventually, behind all that light, the girl could see the shadow too, but it took time and pain ”- concluded Madame with a long sigh.

“Are you referring to Etienne?” - he asked puzzled.

"No. Etienne is just ... Etienne”- she replied, glancing quickly at the jurist in the distance and letting out a half sigh.

“No, I meant that sometimes people get enchanted by the light regardless of the shadow. Instead your eyes are sober of the light: over time you have perhaps learned to appreciate the qualities, how to recognize the defects...”- the woman continued.

Putting her pipe back, she bowed her head again to the papers she was reading.

"Ninon has often talked about you" - Madame concluded, crossing her legs and continuing her reading.

***

At the Royal Palace the sovereign stretched his shoulders complaining of some strange pain.

The court doctor smiled at those complaints, thinking of much more serious illnesses, he spoke with indifference of certain oils that he could use to massage that painful part.

Between one word and another, the King snorted and received those court nobles who, like every day, were arriving with requests and consultations of various kinds.

He thought that after the second or third interview, it was time to cancel the others, but the Comte de Rochefort was waiting for him at the door.

“Sire, I have learned of terrible information! As soon as I found out, I immediately ran here! ”- he exclaimed with false concern.

"Oh! With you! I am sure that in your hands any fact, even the most terrible, can be resolved easily! ”- the sovereign commented with a brief reverence, in the hope of getting away as quickly as possible and devoting himself to something else.

"It's about the Prince, Majesty" - specified Rochefort.

The King stopped. His face became serious like that of the Count.

“That tutor whom the Queen keeps hiding from you, the Marquis of Monsorot, is actually an impostor. I met the Marquis in person, when he was still alive, and I can guarantee you for sure that it is not him ”- explained Rochefort to the sovereign.

"Take it and do with it what you want!" - he answered between his teeth.

“It won't be that easy, Sire. A warrant issued by His Majesty the King would be ideal to convince him to surrender himself to the Red Guards! ”- continued the Count.

"You will have it immediately!" - said the sovereign, hurrying to his offices to immediately draw one.

***

“Wait! Where are you going? ”- Ninon asked noticing Athos leaving Madame's abode.

“My shift here is over, I'm going back to the barracks. D'Artagnan or Porthos will arrive as soon as possible...”- he commented, adjusting the shoulder strap and opening the door without the help of the housekeeper.

“Don't-don't you stay for the lesson that Etienne and I have prepared for our students?”- she asked, secretly disappointed.

Partly thanks to Etienne's help, Ninon had been preparing for a long time to show the Musketeer the best of the Salon. Unlike his, Madame's Salon was not dedicated only to women and now that he had the opportunity, he really wanted to make a difference with his lessons, the proposal of new theories and new discoveries.

"No. For now I prefer to be alone”- he said lowering the tone of his voice.

“So this time you are discharged. However, next time I will not accept a refusal as an answer!”- he whispered to the musketeer, reaching his cheek with a light kiss.


	8. No regrets

Chapter 8

No regrets

D'Artagnan stared at him with keen interest.

"So?" - he asked placing both hands on the table and spreading his arms.

"I told her to go downstairs, that jurist was waiting for her ..." - Athos concluded, raising his eyes.

“Why did you do it? For us men of arms there could be no better woman than one who does not expect anything in exchange for her love! ”- exclaimed the young musketeer, smiling dreamily at the words of his companion.

"This is where you are wrong: how do you distinguish between passions and sentiments if the woman in front of you compares yourself to an animal, a simple piece of meat to which you can do what you want, regardless of what you have inside?" - he retorted in a bright tone of voice.

D'Artagnan did not reply. He thought of Constance and how it was not in her power to choose the destiny to follow: alongside a fighter, adulteress with a ruined reputation, what could she possibly do? For what was the Countess De Larroque it was different, now she was the protégé of Madame Sainctot and Richelieu had still left her an annuity that allowed her the possibility of living a life independent of marriage. In his eyes she seemed the perfect woman for a musketeer.

“Do you think it is possible?” - he asked aloud, turning to Athos.

"Possible what?" - replied the man suspiciously.

"Constance ... Living at the Salon ... After all she too is an intelligent woman, she has a lot of talent ... She has always admired the Salon De Larroque, Madame Sainctot's could be the same thing, don't you think?" - his tone of voice had a positive accent, which did not seem appropriate in the eyes of his friend.

“D'Artagnan a Salon is a dangerous place: ideas, thoughts of all kinds circulate. Theorists who propose things unthinkable for ordinary people. It is no coincidence that the Salon De Larroque was destroyed by Richelieu with simple, completely unfounded pretexts ... "- Athos broke off with a deep sigh -" Sainctot's salvation is the fact that from the outside it looks like a brothel like many others: in only a certain type of women live in a brothel. If Constance fears for her reputation by abandoning her husband for you, it will surely be worse if she tries to do it for the Salon”- he concluded with a shrug.

Maybe it was time to order a drink.

"However you ... It is not the reputation that holds you back, Athos" - replied D'Artagnan.

"No. Life has taught me more ... ”- he said looking around with suspicion.

“If destiny wanted to bring Ninon to you again, why don't you want to take this opportunity?” - asked the boy with melancholy.

"She is not the first woman that fate made me find..." - he murmured with rancor.

“You will have no problem explaining your doubts to an intelligent and cultured woman. Like everyone else, you too will eventually find the solution to your problems ... It may not be what you imagine, but that won't scare you. If your heart has finally been released from its chains, don't let yourself be held back by deception. Leave your regrets to me and enjoy your luck!”- D'Artagnan got up resigned from the table and went away, taken by his doubts, without having drunk even a drop.

***

-You still love me, you will love me forever. You will never stop doing it ...-

That phrase echoed in his memories with pain.

The wine set fire to his throat and he threw his head back, contemplating the thick wooden ceiling. He had the distinct feeling of being alone, yet someone was with him at that moment.

Athos fell back with his head forward and saw Milady pour him more wine.

"Drink, drink more ..." - she said with a smile.

"Don't ... Don't ..." - was all he managed to say, confused by that vision between dream and reality.

“Don't be afraid, it's a good vintage, it's a good wine and it's not poisoned. I've changed, I already told you! Let me show you ... ”- Milady shrugged and sipped the same wine from her goblet.

“I didn't see you at the Court, you weren't in the barracks. Where do you come back from?”- she asked in a calm tone.

Athos looked at her without answering.

"Can you keep a secret?" - the woman asked again as she slipped a hand between hers - "Rochefort has finally obtained a warrant to arrest the Marquis of Monsorot".

Athos leaned forward and spat the rest of the wine under the table.

"Why don't you tell me a secret now?" - she asked in a delicate voice. Her brown hair was gathered under the hood of her cloak and her green eyes watched him with suspicious sweetness.

“What do you want to know?”- he asked.

The wine that Milady kept making him drink was good, no doubt, but full, ancient, almost liqueur. He must have been at least twenty and immediately went to his head.

He gripped his forehead in a pleasant malaise that he knew too well, but hoped he could forget.

“What everyone at Court wants to know: whether the Marquis is the Queen's secret lover or not; if that is the reason why the King was so hasty in providing for his sentence”- she whispered getting closer and closer.

“She is not the Queen's mistress. Now go away!”- he said, complaining of that confused feeling with a groan.

"Do you want to know another secret?" - she continued, indifferent to his discomfort.

“It is said that he is a frondeur, who lives in a brothel. The warrant is just a pretext. Rochefort will humiliate the procuress who has him in check and ridiculed him in front of the Parisians. The Count would have found a way to kill him in any case, he doesn't want to take any chances...”- the persuasive voice of the woman entered her ears like a strange hiss.

These were things he already knew, but hearing them uttered by her made the context more cold, surreal. He couldn't reveal how he had come to know this information: he nodded absently, as if he had heard it for the first time.

Milady smiled and bowed her head.   
"Now it's your turn again, Athos" - she whispered, her lips so close to his ear.

"What do you want to know?"- he said moving away and turning his head intolerant to that behavior.

“I want to hear it from you. Say it!”- the woman's face was inexorably close, her eyes green, luminous, her lips plump. He felt her on him without being able to prevent it in any way.

With the last strength left, Athos took her arms and managed to push her away slightly.

“I have loved you passionately, but if you allow yourself to change your disposition, or say to do so, you should also give others the same benefit: I don't love you anymore. Someone else has taken your place in my heart”- the musketeer looked into her eyes, to fall hunched over the table, with his head in the crook of his own arm.

Milady's face burned with rage, she instinctively threw the contents of the glass at him and walked away with her eyes full of tears.

***

Rochefort looked around with particular caution.

He refolded the letter after noting, for the umpteenth time, if the royal seal had been clearly visible.

Once he made sure the official papers were in order, he smiled and walked to the barracks, looking for Red Guards for his retaliation.

During the short walk, the figure of a woman touched his shoulder.

He whirled around to meet Milady's apparently tired face under the large cloak. She smiled at the Count's proud gaze and gave a brief reverence.

"Please excuse me ..." - said the woman.

"Maybe you should rest more at night, Milady!" - he retorted with a half laugh.

Continuing on his way, the Count turned a quick glance towards the gardens of the Royal Palace, where the strange morning rite of the tutor's entrance to the Court had just ended. This time, however, the man in the blue jacket walked more decisively towards another wing of the Palace: the Queen's private rooms.

He should never have allowed this impostor to achieve all that confidence.

Running, he broke into the servants' rooms and, through them, managed to get to the anteroom at the same time as the tutor.

“Marquis de Monsorot! You are a traitor, an impostor! Give in without resisting ”- the Count exclaimed, finding the man a few steps away from the Queen.

"Who gives you the right to insult my good name" - Aramis replied from under the brim of his hat, quickly covering his beard with the collar of his jacket.

“I have just received the order from the King to arrest you! Get away from that man Majesty, I say it only for your own good, his intentions are petty and treacherous! ”- said the Count, holding out his hand to her.

“Rochefort! It seemed to me that I was clear when I ordered that the Marquis de Monsorot not be approached by anyone. I meant you too, Count! ”- the Queen exclaimed, taking the little Dolphin in her arms and taking a few steps towards the man.

“In his presence you are in grave danger! You do not know his secrets will ... ”- murmured Rochefort with false concern.

"I hope for you that you have not mentioned these insane ideas to His Majesty the King!" - exclaimed the sovereign offended by his words and the refusal to obey his commands.

Aramis got closer to the two.

"Give yourselves up voluntarily, Monsieur!" - Rochefort ordered without recognizing him.

“Wait! You will surely have authorization from the King. Show it to the Queen and I will come with you! "- said Aramis, confusing his voice under the Marquis's shoes.

The sovereign looked at him with concern, fearing that she would have to hand over the musketeer or be discovered.

The Count looked for the letter for a few moments, without finding it.

"You and I both have other commitments to await!" - the Queen stared at Rochefort impatiently, bringing Aramis behind her with a wave of her hand.

The precious warrant was gone from his pockets. He looked around, deeply embarrassed, bowed his head and left the sovereign's chambers without saying another word.

***

"Were you looking for this?" - Milady asked noticing the irritated face of Rochefort who was advancing again towards the barracks.

"I ... I found it on the ground after our meeting, here, it's yours" - he said handing him the letter with the royal seals.

The man reached out to rip the piece of paper from her fingers, but she quickly pulled it back.

"You still owe me a favor, Count!" - she said putting the document back under the folds of her skirt.

“Give me that warrant! These are business that do not concern you, you do not do anything! ”- he complained impatiently.

"You have to help me find someone else ..." - whispered the woman staring into his eyes.


	9. Mills

Chapter 9

Mills

A severe itch in his back, something stung him from under the mattress.

Athos opened his eyes and looked around: he was again in Ninon's room.

However she was not there, her crystalline voice could be heard downstairs. She was talking and laughing along with Etienne's more nasal and deep one.

He was dressed, all he needed was socks and boots. His weapons, hat and shoulder strap neatly placed on the floor by the side of the bed.

The smell of the pillow was nauseating. It clearly mirrored the smell of his breath, after the previous evening of drinking.

He got up slowly and, holding back a new retching, closed the door with the latch, so that no one could enter and find him in those conditions.

On the other side of the screen was a tub, with the water now cold, with which to wash. He looked around for some essential oil, honey, and some ash to clean his teeth.

Had he been at the barracks, Porthos or Aramis could have provided him with sage to chew on, but his companions were not with him at the time and he would not have wanted their attention in any way. Above all, he would not have wanted to explain the reasons that had led him to reduce himself like this or what he was doing in Rue St. Augustin.

He hated the alcoholic taste coming back from the rim of his stomach.

He also hated the taste of ash.

He plunged his head into the frozen water for a few seconds, noticing that the noises downstairs had suddenly stopped and light footsteps, which could be heard more clearly under the surface of the water, ran along the wooden steps. Nobody knocked.

He clung to a raw linen cloth, with some initials embroidered on the edge, he brought it to his head and his face drying.

He smelled good, it reminded him of his first encounters with Ninon, his Salon, his students from the lower classes to whom he taught literature with the same accuracy and precision that could be addressed to the most important of nobles. That innate dedication to human beings, the certainty that under his watchful eyes everyone was truly born equal, was perhaps one of the reasons that had caught his attention.

However, a question also came to his memories, the one she asked him during their farewell, some time before.

“ Who was that woman? Do you know her? ”- the voice of the woman with golden hair and curious eyes, echoed in her memories of some time before.

He thought he would not have provided any other explanation if she asked him again.

The vague memories of the previous evening did not coincide with the situation he was in: he could not understand what had been between him and Milady after he had pushed her away and why he was now with Madame Sainctot.

He opened the door slowly: Ninon's blue eyes were on him, with no way out. His back was straight, his hands clasped, an indecipherable expression on his worried face.

"You showed up here this morning ..." - she explained.

He looked at her without knowing what to say.

“You didn't look too drunk. I was probably wrong ... ”- Ninon continued noticing his blank gaze.

“Was I accompanied by someone?” - he asked with apparent coldness.

"No. You were on foot, alone ”- she replied, pausing to remember that moment. He let a few moments pass before resuming the conversation.

"You looked tired, I was getting up so I decided to leave my bed" - the woman said, looking away - "You haven't done anything that could compromise your reputation in some way ..." - she continued taking a sigh.

The man bowed quickly in gratitude, walked past her and down the stairs running in the direction of the main hall and the exit, however once he reached the door he turned to her and walked back.

Ninon was still coming down the stairs and no longer had the confident expression of the day before.

"Do you know why Aramis forbade me to attend to my duties at Court?" - she asked.

Athos narrowed his eyes: he remembered nothing of all that business. He should have gone to the barracks, but he did not know how to present himself to his companions after that terrible evening. He would take his time refreshing himself in the nearby countryside; Montmartre gate was only a few steps away.

"I will not fail to ask this evening, on my return" - he murmured, lowering his gaze.

"Why, now where are you headed?" - she asked almost in amazement.

"I don't know ..." - he lied. Ninon's company wasn't a nuisance to him, but right now his desire was to be alone and not think.

Ninon turned to Etienne, as if asking permission to leave the Salon, he nodded busily and she took Athos's arm.

“You need air and I need answers!” - he said opening the front door and calling a car headed for the countryside outside the Montmartre Gate. Athos accepted reluctantly, in silence.

She waited patiently for Ninon to start talking and asking her questions, but she frowned and looked out the hatch, anxiously: there was some problems that had arisen at Court, which Aramis had not told her about, but certainly something. it had happened to keep her from returning. Then there was Athos and his private affairs which inexorably collided with his choices and his destiny. His sensitive ways showed behind his hard gaze and arrogant attitude. He knew how that had been all a staging to keep from getting close, but he didn't know how to openly divide between truth and lie.

He remained silent until the car stopped and the two were invited to get out.

Once in the open countryside, it was easy to see the windmills on the horizon slowly turning their blades as the breeze blew. Ninon pointed out one in particular, among the closest, and a path between the fields. Despite the cloudy and gray sky, all that light hammered at the temples and walking at that moment was the last of Athos's wishes. He walked that stretch of road with relative ease, another sign of how, in all likelihood, that night he had not really accomplished anything he could regret.

The interior of the mill was dark and empty. Large wooden gears were firmly anchored to the ceiling and there was a small well from which Ninon drew water.

Noticing that the man continued to be silent, it was she who began to speak.

"As you may have already noticed of me, before being accused of heresy and witchcraft I was a noblewoman very fond of her studies and little to the life of the Court ..." - she said in a serious, direct tone.

Athos nodded silently, letting her speak.

“... Unfortunately, even then things changed very quickly. So I'll ask you only one more time, but you have to be honest ... ”- he admonished him, looking fixedly in his still tired eyes.

Ninon had always had faith in mankind, he was cradled in the philosophical hope that humanity by its nature was led to improve, in a mercy that went beyond religious concepts. Generally, she believed in the good nature of people, but life had taught her something else.

“Why are you against me? What have I done wrong to you? Just you! A woman like me! ”- he remembered his own words shouted to the brown-haired lady, with pain, in front of the inquisitorial process.

Instinctively, he repeated the same phrase that Madame had exclaimed when, some time before, he had told her that sad adventure.

"... A woman goes against another for one reason only ..." - he said aloud, taking even more time.

Ninon's voice pounded in Athos's ears, heavy, punctuated.

Her lips parted again, showing her teeth and the tip of her tongue slowly forming the sound of a name he never wanted to hear:

"La Chapelle, aka Milady De Winter was your lover in the past, wasn't she?"

Athos, sitting in a niche in the brick wall, took his forehead and looked away.

“I'm not blaming you, or deserving it. The past does not belong to us, but we can decide on our present”- she continued, finding no answers from her.

Athos feared that question: but he would expect it from her sooner or later. He had thought of an answer, he wanted to tell her he never saw it again, but at that moment saying it in the same way as in his memoirs meant lying.

He remained silent.

“You know the reason for my question: you know how it has nothing to do with us. You are a man free to make your own decisions, but me and that woman ... ”- Ninon began to speak, but Athos stopped her.

“I'm not her lover… Everyone knows who her lover is! You too! ”- he exclaimed in a wounded tone. Athos delayed, in an effort to remember the events of the previous evening.

"However, yesterday, at the barracks, he offered me wine, he asked me for things" - he continued after a heavy sigh.

Ninon turned to him with full attention.

"What did you answer?" - she asked quickly, that news was perhaps the element that Ninon was looking for to make her private events coincide with those of the court: perhaps Athos had betrayed her. Although embittered by a lack of sentiment, the betrayal that she found most painful was that of having betrayed her word.

"Anything. I didn't satisfy her wishes, that's why she left ”- he replied in silence.

"Was she interested in the Salon in some way?" - the mechanical voice of the woman rang out towards the openings in the ceiling where the beats of some pigeons could be heard reacting to new noises.

"No. He didn't ask for you. However, he spoke of the Marquis de Monsorot: Rochefort has obtained a royal warrant to arrest him ”- he replied slowly.

Maybe that was why Aramis didn't want her to take the Marquis's shoes again: somehow he knew how, under those circumstances, Ninon could be in danger again.

"So you have not betrayed your word!" - exclaimed the woman with great surprise.

"No! I would never do that ... ”- he admitted.

“I have to give you credit, I was wrong about you. I thought you were like everyone else. I thought that a beautiful woman could have done everything of you ”- she murmured, vaguely repentant.

"Instead you had to be sure, since I have already proved otherwise ..." - Athos said. His voice echoed alone in the silence.

After a moment of silence, Ninon took that as a compliment. Contrary to his direct resourcefulness, Athos's ways were to be interpreted in the tone of his voice, in the individual sentences that meant one thing and meant quite another. She looked away slightly, shrugged and let go of her arms, her cheeks taking on a vivid color and hinted at a smile of thanks.

"You know well how even the most stubborn of your pupils will learn his lesson if repeated several times" - the man said, looking away, showing just as much shyness.

"Sure, but sometimes it's the teacher's turn to listen and learn ..."

"Is there anything to learn in this lesson, Ninon?"

The woman timidly reached him and hesitated a few moments before finding his gaze again.

“You are a smart, intelligent man. You won't have the theory on your side, but you know how to recognize people. You are a doctor, not an anatomist: you know how to listen and you know how to solve the problems of others. This is a gift that I envy in you, Athos ”- he said getting even closer.

Ninon kissed him again, but this time he didn't flinch.

***

An acrid smell of smoke reached the nostrils, it was not the smoke from Madame's pipe.

This was strong, unbreathable, it seemed to come from the downstairs entrance.

Etienne got up confused, to find himself facing Blaise and Jacqueline still in their nightgowns. Noises came from downstairs, someone frantically knocking on the door.

The man ran down and threw it open, to find Madame face white with fear and skirts torn at the knees. Her disheveled hair smelled like someone who has just passed through the flames.

She carried with her a kind of bag from which some things overflowed which she had managed to put her hand on before going out.

"The Salon ..." - he said in a strangled voice.

Behind her, her home was collapsing in flames as the other residents tried to remedy the disaster with water and blankets.

“What's going on, Madame?” - Etienne asked.

“Someone set the prints on fire: all the prints. The exit was blocked ... "- Madame said in a strangled voice -" Who can prevent such a thing? "- the woman continued, wrinkling her chin.

Her lips, now white and dry, trembled unconditionally as tears wet her face.

Etienne, speechless by that miserable vision, led the way for her to enter.

"Madame ..." - the man tried to say, in an attempt to console her or understand how such a thing could have happened.

"Call me Yvette ..." - she answered without looking at him.


End file.
